The Web the Spider Weaves
by syrav96
Summary: King's Landing's only "Spider" leads a life of endless danger and intrigue, but Varys' position as Royal Spymaster is not without its benefits. Years of gathering secrets and parlaying with friend and foe alike leave little time for relaxation - yet unbeknownst to most, the eunuch plays more than the game of thrones when left to his own devices. Lust - and maybe even love - awaits.


Tyrion and Varys shared (more than a few) bottles of the fine Dornish wine, wheedling away the time in Varys' chambers. The pale marble walls normally lent a cold air to the room, but with a fire crackling in the hearth, shadows danced merrily upon the cold stone. The room was alight with the flame's warmth, the cool tones washed over with amber against the darkening sky as viewed from the small windows. One would almost call the atmosphere…romantic.

_Six hours prior…_

Varys, surprisingly, wasn't quite sure why Tyrion had decided to call upon him tonight. Earlier that day, Podrick had raced dutifully to Varys, panting upon arrival as if he had raced the entire way to the throne room – which, Varys acknowledged, he probably had. The poor boy seemed to follow all of Tyrion's orders as if they made the difference between life and death. Podrick was naïve, no doubt, but his diligent nature could not be faulted.

_If my little birds tell true – and they _always _do – Podrick has other skills at which few are equal_, the eunuch thought to himself, eyes twinkling lustily as he thought of the knightly adolescent boy. Those rumors were ones that Varys had long ago decided he would personally investigate, once the opportunity presented itself. The bald man unconsciously licked his lips, imagining what lay beneath Podrick's squirely layers of leather.

_Not yet_, he mentally reminded himself as Podrick stuttered Lord Tyrion's invitation to dine after the sun set that day. For the Spider was nothing if not patient, and preferred to take opportunities as they arose rather than chancing to orchestrate events himself – yet another aspect of his stratagem that he and Lord Littlefinger differed on.

Just thinking of Baelish fired off a slight flare of anger in the eunuch's mind. Petyr, he was sure, was one of the greatest threats to the Kingdom – no one else, save possibly Tyrion, seemed aware of this fact. But, just like the thought of caressing all of young Pod's smooth cheeks, taking down Littlefinger once and for all was a task best left for when the opportunity presented itself. Ultimately, the not-quite-a-lord was just a man, and had his accompanying weaknesses just waiting to be exploited…it was, like all other things, simply a matter of waiting for the man to fall into his carefully constructed web.

Snapping back to reality, Varys tilted his head amiably at Podrick, a slight smile on his lips. "I understand, dear boy", he told him, hands folded in front of voluminous robes. This was actually a subconscious effort to hide a growing erection, if he still had a penis, but Varys was unaware of the symbolism. "You may tell your lord that I will have a fine meal awaiting him in my chambers. I give him my regards. Now then, run along, but I implore you not to tire yourself out."

Relieved, Podrick bowed slightly and twisted round, nearly stumbling in the process as he ran back to his tiny master. Varys eyed him appreciatively. _I hate to see you leave, young boy, but oh, how I love to watch you go._

The youngest Lannister lion was quite an anomaly, Varys thought to himself appreciatively. The dwarf – -or the Imp, depending on who you asked – was cleverer than the man had any right to be. He could admire Tyrion for his wit and surprising charisma, and could envy him for being born into gold and power, but the spider wasn't sure that those qualities overrode his height – or rather, his _lack _of it. But what is a eunuch doing, looking down – both figuratively and literally – on a dwarf? To be derided as an imp, or to lack a very valued bodily member…Varys could never quite decide which the worse fate was.

Truth be told, the royal spymaster had always found the little Lannister oddly…_enticing_. The small (albeit crooked) form of a child, with the sharp mind of an adult…it was quite the combination. Precious moments spent with many of Varys' little birds were always treasured, yet their juvenile minds – or maybe it was just their lack of tongues – always left a little something to be desired. Varys wondered idly if Tyrion's sharp tongue was equally effective in other applications. He knew that the Imp had never shown the slightest interest in the stronger sex, but the eunuch thought of all possibilities; after all, stranger things had happened in King's Landing.


End file.
